Just Breathe
by drtywebkinz
Summary: Yep. Another star crossed set of lovers, like everyone thinks. And during the time of your life. High school really is unpredictable, but what happens when a cocaine stained crick and a felt-up, over active douche end up together in the least possible way imaginable? Heart break, drugged up AU. M for abuse, drugs, sex, etc. Tweek x Craig; South Park; Creek (Remake of old;)
1. Day 1: Entry 1

_"Day 1: New Journal_

 _So. . . A journal. Helps with 'mental issues'. I don't buy it. But mom threatens to check it at least once a month, so I might as well put something to make her happy._

 _I guess I'm done for now? Later, paper."_

Tweek stared at the so called 'Recycled Paper'. The tips of parchment felt too clean against his palm. Recycled, his ass. The cheap logo. The oh-so-famous branding, followed by a celebrity spokesperson. The only thing recycled was their fucking face. It was on practically everything they sold, from the Vacuums, to the toilet paper, right down to the ratchet ass panties they sold in plastic, rubbery and clear materials that was labeled 'Hand Stitched! Fresh feel, no matter the wash!' As if. The cheap, left angled smile, like he was pleased with some conversation that you're apparently supposed to feel, or a 'good job' notification, as if you needed enough of that, the thumbs up just to follow that pat on the back, and finally, hand placed over the logo like he's actually touching it.

It's called Photoshop, and it's cheap as fuck.

No matter, the young boy still couldn't do a thing but be sold to and marketed on a daily basis. But- Let's not get into how much the world is fucked up, shall we? It's already a disappointment that black men and women are being targeted for no fucking reason other than blatant racism, LGBTQ communicants can't even get a fucking say in the natural way of life that they cannot choose, and get shamed for on a daily basis that doesn't even need to be argued for when it should be a natural right, that the fact the public education system of America is fucking children from every angle, especially up the ass when it comes to grades, and let's not even get started on college tuition. Where he lives, sucks ass. Yeah, he could have it worse, but people wise, it can't get too much worse than this. Ah, America, land of the free, home of the brave.

The young boy was caught in his thoughts and it zoomed in and out, side to side, all that nonsense. But it wasn't his fault. ADHD is a real thing. And it's sure a pain in the ass when Spring Break is over, and you have to get up in only two hours for school tomorrow. And it really is a real thing when you're up at 4 A.M. crying while writing a Fanfiction about fictitious babies you know will not end up good in the end.

At least the drowsiness hit him around now. The calculated hours he would get if he dozed now were around two hours, to two hours, fifteen minutes. 'It's better than one.', he thought. Tweek set his scrabbly ol' notebook down on the ground with a small plunk and drifted his eyes to the T.V., reading the small script below that translated what the characters were saying so it would't wake his dad up with all the jumbled noises and audience laughter. Those shows would be a lot better without the fucking 80 something year ass people laughing at gags that are persistent and aren't even funny anymore. But, sadly, it was entertaining.

Now- What's up with little Tweek Tweek? Besides ADHD, of course? Well, this coffee ruled addict has- of course, of all unfortunates- depression. Nothing too major though! Just the occasional urge to throw himself off a cliff or, just take a knife to his chest from time to time, but nothing too serious. It was all in the norm for him.

But that's not a good norm. And he doesn't exactly know it, but knows it at the same time.

But why does he have it? His mom and dad are both loving, he gets his needs and desires, he's a simple folk in his quiet, little mountain town!

Wrong.

The main cause of all his pain and unsustainable, parched and salty tongue, and undeniable and unearthly shaking is his dad.

But he doesn't abuse him! Heavens, no!

His dad is dead.

September 14th, 2010. Tweek was barely twelve at the time. His mom and him were at home, the little boy aside dearest mother and helping in cooking his favorite- Teriyaki Rice! It made his stomach all grumble-y just thinking about it. Then suddenly there was a call.

His mom picked up the phone and started breathing hysterically, neighbors already bursting in to comfort her. No one would tell the young boy what was happening. What was going on. What any of this was. Police were there. The neighbor kids were there.

What happened?

The words jumbled in his brain. The memory fogged and now present Tweek growled at himself. The text was unclear and childish. Everything was a blur. And that's what was his leading cause in depression.

It wasn't until a few hours later he found out about the car wreck. It was on the 10 o'clock local news. He overheard it from his room and started sobbing massively. His mother didn't want him to find out that way, but when it did, it hit him like that car that killed his dad. (Too soon?)

And to this day, it felt like it was his fault. Maybe, just maybe, if he had bugged his dad enough he wouldn't have left. Maybe if he didn't break his favorite Thomas the Tank Engine train, he wouldn't have insisted on leaving to get him a new one. Maybe if he wasn't born he would be happy with just a simple two person life. No interference.

There were so many ways he could blame himself and be all. . . sad, but. . . He needed sleep, and now was not the time to think about something that happened almost five years back. But he still couldn't help it. But luckily, that cheesy ass T.V. show did.

And there Tweek lay. Eyes daunted to reading text, audio barely up to five, and his whole body, a rock. A time of peace was accepted into his mind.

". . . I have fucking homework. . ."

 **Yo, yo! First legit FanFic; Really proud of the idea? Idk like or whatever if likey, constructive criticism? Tell me! Later, dweebs!**


	2. Day 2: Let it Begin

12 A.M.

3 A.M.

5 A.M.

Another all-nighter. But it was normal as could be. Sleep was typically resented. It wasn't the most wholesome breeze of living, but it 'got the job done', if you know what I mean.

Job? What job? Craig was a young boy who was just in bearing high school? What job required him to stay up all night half the time? What job kept his eyes burning with rejuvenation and nonstop intensity? What kept a young boy up that could almost throw a grown man into insanity? Yet. . . the boy being insane, but completely collapsing at the same time?

Maybe cocaine.

Maybe shitty wall banging sex every night from the neighbors, as his sister put it.

Maybe life.

Alright, now let's start from the beginning. Again.

August 13th, 2009. Little Craig was starting his 5th grade year of Elementary School. In all honesty, he was more ecstatic then he seemed. Like always. And boy were the teachers big! Not obese, but there was nothing against obese people and- He just couldn't think. Childish thoughts.

Anyways, the young'n just wandered the halls and courts. He inevitably explored every corner of his new hall, new desks, new lemon pledge, new everything. New school years are always magical. It feels like a new start. New friends. New life.

But that was just school. Again, the childish thoughts and words. Nothing but a child's play.

Until his dad got home that night.

Craig had involuntarily rambled on and on about how some things sucked, some things were better. Like the teacher wasn't Mr./Mrs. Mackey, and how she was actually nice and let them use crayons and spaghetti today. And how they had soy-chicken or beef or whatever the school allowed with velvet cake, and white broccoli stuff. . . What was it. . . May Flower. . . Cauliflower! That was it!

And right dab in the middle, their father burst in, Chinese in one hand and a brown, shit looking bag in the other. It wasn't his concern at the moment, due to the aura and dazing smell of Chinese food, but it still sparked a little curiosity in his mind.

His mother gave their father one of the most serious looks they had ever seen, and Craig was about to ask what the bag was, and why his father had it, but both parents were already a fourth of the way up the steps. It might not have been much, but it was best not to disturb his parents privacy right now. It seemed serious.

And so the night was carried away with loud and obnoxious loitering, singing, and complete and casual insanity. The young boy had no idea what was going on, nor to expect. It was simply dull and blurring. Nothing seemed right, but yet it all seemed well.

But you know, after a while, that little bit of curiosity gets the best of you. It sends you into overdrive, fully determined what to think and how to get away with what. And that little brown bag brought in slowly and more frequently was getting on his nerves. Most times a week his parents didn't exactly act right at night. Now he couldn't exactly see them, but the sense was overwhelming.

One day, the bag was left on the counter. He was home alone from school, as his father was at work, and his mother was at a soccer game with his younger sister. That little parchment bag. Right there in front of him.

He gave in.

He quietly opened the wrinkled and statically damaged paper bag. It contained one of the smallest and cutest bags he had ever seen. It was like a Zip-Lock, but about the size of his index finder. And inside, well, it looked like powdered sugar. And Craig wasn't the one to deny anything sugary and sweet.

And his innocent mind played a trick on him. The boy opened it up gently and took a pinch between his thumb and index. Maybe this was why his parents were strange. They were always hyped up on sugar! Craig didn't mind a little. He could defend himself like a super hero and resist most of the time. Maybe adult were weaker to the substance.

A little taste wouldn't hurt.

The rough yet smooth texture of it burned his tongue slightly, and his throat immensely dried. A pheromone at the back of his head triggered, and he stayed away from that god awful shit. What the fuck was that? Why did his parents want it? He gently and shakily closed the bag and set it all back to normal, trying to ignore what he had just done. But in the end, why would it even end well?

Soon the addictive setting kicked in, his parents now fighting all the time and nonstop yelling and smashing items. They were kind in front of others, but once at home all hell unleashed. Craig tried to ignore it, and did. His parents fighting wasn't all that bad. But his addiction was.

He soon learned what he had took and why it was so bad and why his parents wanted it. It was Crack/Cocaine. He was always told by those school seminars to 'Stay Drug Free', and 'Never do it; Not even once'. They were right.

The additive was so invigorating and toxic. But he wanted more. And more he learned to get.

His life stirred into madness. He was out on the streets almost any night of the week he could, selling and buying the drug. It was his new way. It was his old way.

It was him.

 **Yay! Woop woop. Another one and another tale. I'll probably add another chapter tonight. I'm already captivating myself!**


	3. Day 3: Welcome to Hell

"And, so General Rodcock slammed his dirty-" "ENOUGH, James. . .", Ms. Hilsley confined, rubbing her temples and shooing James elsewhere, preferably his desk unless that ungodly talk and counterfeit act caused him to fluctuate and receive his dirty and earthly. . .

James chortled his nose and tittered everyone around, undulating and sauntering his hips to and from his classmates, boys chuckling and girls covering their mouth and nose, holding in the giggles and fits. Ms. Hilsley hushed the class and scanned through the entitlement of names, marked ones skipping, and unmarked deciding on which poor soul to call upon next. "Hmm. . . How about you, Tweek?"

Few heads silently eyed, and spun, and landed on the, younger-than-the-majority, boy. Tweek cocked his head to peak at her, eyes wilted, still, despite being the third-fourth of the day. He remembered that sleepless and dazing night, not even remembering what the hell he was supposed to write about. "U- Uh, Ma'am?"

A few kids sneered.

"Your essay? Page long fiction reflecting on earlier life?" He stared at her lifelessly and bug eyed, realizing what she said but just so fucking tired.

BAM.

"C'mon dude, we don't got all day!", an unfamiliar hand slammed on his desk. The young boy jumped and the whole block just was perked with laughter. "Yes, yes."

He fudged through rumpled and wrinkled papers and stumbled to find what exactly he was dulling for. Eventually it hit him. The paper. First dresser by the door. He left it there saying he'd put it in his book bag right after breakfast. God damn it.

Tweek gaped at his surroundings. His mouth was simply left dry and he cringed a fake smile. "Well, the title of my essay is. . .", he coughed. " _One Night_ "

The teacher bobbed her head in approval. The whole class fronted him.

"Okay, um. . . Sorry if it sounds more like a sonnet or poem or. . . "

The class just stared.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "One- One night, there was a storm. One night, it caused caused havoc on a town. One night, a town was unsteady. One . . . Night, a girl sat in her room, afraid. One day, the storm got to her. One day, the girl cowered in a corner, afraid of her shadow."

He looked around and saw many engaged already, and some almost looked. . . nauseous. Tweek's throat bubbled with anticipation.

"One night, her family wasn't there. One day, her family was taken by the storm. One day, the girl didn't know what to do. One night, it was all the same. One night, everything was normal. One night, she never even knew her family. One night, she wasn't her. One night, the girl wasn't even alive. One night, the storm wasn't there."

"One night, she was the storm."

Many looked confused, pickled few looked like they were about to cry? And the rest were just awed in the 'fun little story'. The class clapped, one or two hollered, the back kids scorned, and the teacher majestically beamed.

Tweek leaned back in his chair, satisfied with himself and the random bull that shot out, and before he was familiar, the bell sounded, and off to the final block of the day. Band.

At least in band you're not judged. Well, not as often.

Tweek fluttered his bag over his back and began speeding through the hall, already throwing his Converses into his extra bag and hopping leg to leg to tie up his Reebok's. "YoooOOOooo, Tweekers!"

Token swung his arm around the 'squeaky' boys neck and almost wrecked both of them onto the floor. He was dressed in school colors, glitter gold and royal blue, who who!, as the team and entire student body put it. Crinkled Adidas sweats, pre-owned, yet still fly Lettermans, the high top Nike's, silver-y Beats, and that 80's retro hairdo to pull it all off. He looked like an ass, but was the sweetest thing since chocolate pudding. (No pun intended)

"Yo, Token. Ready for band, dude? I hear y'all gotta learn a new part of the set today. That must suck. Balls." Token took his arm off him and castled his arm. "Man, shut the fuck up-" He stilled at the close-by teacher and laughed to himself. Almost caught again.

"You lucky, you know? We weren't even aware of what the fuck percussion was until like. . . a year ago or some shit. Man, and you ain't the actual drum line. You don't do shi-" And with one shot stares, Token shut up faintly. "We've been over this before, Token. Me and you, we're equal in all aspects. Don't fucking pity me just because I don't march. Like I don't pity you because your instrument sounds like ass music and you could never hold 10 pounds worth of sticks in both hands desperately and still try and look good."

"You got me.", the darker skin one beamed, rubbing the back of his neck. Presently, more and more of his buds kept rolling in and going straight with everything. Today was going to be a rough set.

 _". . . That concludes the afternoon announcements. The class of 2015 may be officially released; please hold all others until the bell."_ The intercom shut off, and all band students went wild. Talking wise, of course. Friends chatted, the teacher joked. Everything was normal. And finally, the bell set off, a quick bye to friends, phone pulled, and Tweek was off!

He left from the back, where the band hall was. Right be the gym, and lead to the bus stop, while other classes around had to wander halls and squirm through to get the hell back home. If they even made it.

Everything was sweaty. Out in the sun for longed and damned hours, pushing shit equipment from one field to another. And then no one fucking helping. Ever. Except a few band couple's but that was typically it.

And those few minutes of sanctity of air condition. Ah. It relieved him, yes, but it wasn't enough at the moment. And you know, what better to top off this hell than with a bus. With no working A.C. Just great. And what about when he got home? Yah everything was fine but he's still be hot and his hair was a worse mess and he's have to help clean and homework and eat and-

"Mr. Tweak!" His thoughts were caved in and he was now faced with his English teacher. Y- Yes, Ms. Hilsley?" She looked at him with sincere eyes and nudged his shoulder. "That was some good on-the-spot thinking you pulled today. Just be glad I didn't ask for a hard copy." He looked up at her with wide eyes and slowly shook his head. "Relax. You weren't the first one today to just come up with something random. At least yours was good. I was quite impressed. And glad you didn't make a scene like Mr. James and Gerald."

Tweek laughed and sauntered towards his bus number with the teacher. "I'm glad you liked it. It felt weird saying it and rushed but I didn't realize I left my real paper at home this morning." Hilsley looked at him. "Oh yah? And what was the title of that one?" The blond chuckled. "One Storm. Kinda where I got the idea." The teacher laughed and checked her watch. "Well, you best be getting on the bus before you miss. I don't wanna be responsible for another piss- Angry parent."

Tweekers grimaced at her slip up and began to roam off. "Thank you again, Ms. H." She waved back and then a sliver of interest caught her face. "Oh, and um. . . That boy over there has been staring at you for a while. Over there", She pointed. "Thought you should know."

She walked off with a little sway as the boy looked back to where she focused. He bobbed his head around until he caught dark eyes right on his soul. He stayed glued to them until he got on the bus, head fuzzed.

Who. . . Who was that?


End file.
